


Two To Rule

by sacredheart (orphan_account)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: And both of them want to be more powerful than the other, And there's a lot of fighting and disagreements, Basically they hate each other at first, Because their personalities just clash, Because they were expecting to be kings of their own kingdoms and now they kinda have to share(??), Enemies to Lovers, Liam is the son of a duke, M/M, Niall is a stable boy, Prince Harry - Freeform, Prince Louis, Royalty AU, medieval times
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-03 17:50:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5300960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/sacredheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince Louis is an intellectual interested in philosophy and human interaction; Prince Harry feeds off of power and wealth because it's all he's been raised to yearn for. Their arranged marriage will be the downfall of them both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I just would like to say that I will be continuing 'Our Universe Was Clothed in Light', I just need a little bit of a break from it to develop the plot further. So you can expect an update on that story within the next few weeks. In the meantime, I've really missed writing in the medieval setting every since 'All The King's Men', and so... here's another one! Feedback is always appreciated, so please let me know if you guys are interested in this one!
> 
> Also, please note that this is only the Prologue, and is a little bit shorter than I intend on the regular chapters being.

Doncaster is a demure kingdom, with little to boast but its soft scenery. It’s nestled between a patch of rolling hills, alive with full and fresh shrubbery. Green and gorgeous, with farming villages sparsely scattered throughout its lush forests. 

There is a subtle charm to the place; the kind of sweetness only appreciated by those who were born from it. Its inhabitants work the fertile land in small quantities. They provide for themselves, mostly, keeping trade internal and miniscule. The stillness of this place provides a quiet happiness - a reassuring peace.

Deep into the wood lies a stone palace with cylindrical towers that stick out above the trees. There are ivy vines that climb its exterior walls, and they stand as a metaphor for guidance and surveillance over the land, in the interest of the safety of its inhabitants.

The current royal family line, the Tomlinsons, have very few quarrels or ill feelings towards other rulers. They try to influence their subjects with such behavior, but there is a particular kingdom bordering Doncaster that rubs their people the wrong way. 

Cheshire.

The name rolls off of citizens tongues in a foul way, their lips curled in distaste. They don’t agree with the morals of the people there; who rely more heavily on power than intelligence. They’re fighters, not intellectuals. Cheshire is run by the Styles family, who much like their people, feed off of victorious wars and wealth. It is a much larger nation, full of bustling cities full of citizens that those of Doncaster would describe as “brutish” and “thick.” 

Prince Louis Tomlinson has been to Cheshire but one time, as a child, and he remembers very little of it. He was all but ten, and his father had decided it was about time he began to observe and learn about diplomatic affairs. And so, the little prince began accompanying the king on most of his political travels. 

They climbed into the royal carriage and rode for nine days to Cheshire, particularly the royal palace there, so that Louis’s father could discuss trade with the other king. 

It was nothing like the archaic, stone palace in Doncaster. The enormous building was made entirely of carved, white marble, and shone like a sea stone against the bright blue summer sky. It reeked of magnificence. 

As they had entered the grand foyer, their feet clacking against the floor that was so neatly polished they could see their own reflections, young Louis had craned his neck to look above him. There were baby angels - cherubs - painted on the high ceiling, all of them smiling down at him and playing instruments. 

Never in his life had he seen such decorative glamour, and he’s a _prince._ His awe, though, had been interrupted by the booming voice of a middle aged gentleman.

“Tomlinson!” The King of Cheshire, a hearty looking man with a full frame and warm eyes was walking towards them with outstretched hands. Louis’s father greeted him the same way, and the two men embraced. “It is good to see you, my old friend,” he murmured, before turning to Louis himself.

“And this is the son I have waited so long to meet! Greetings, young fellow.” It was odd to hear someone call him anything other than ‘Your Highness’, but Louis supposed that kings were allowed to call princes whatever they liked. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty,” Louis had humbly told him with a bit of a shaky voice. The man only laughed and clapped him on the back. 

“You’ll get along just fine with my Harry,” he informed him. And, okay, how did he assume that from Louis’s one sentence? He was probably only being polite. 

As if hearing his name spoken was his cue, a prince about Louis’s age emerged from the hall behind the throne. He was dressed in the finest of silks, all the way down to his white stockings and black, buckled shoes. His hair, full and chocolate colored and curling away from his pale face, seemed perfectly arranged.

His features were soft, but his eyes were hard. His stare burned holes in Louis’s skin, as if he had some sort of personal vendetta. 

“Harry, come, come,” the boy’s father beckoned him to join the conversation, and the young prince did as he was told. “Meet our neighbors, of sorts.” 

“It’s a pleasure,” Harry’s voice rang through the hall, and he nodded curtly. There was no kindness to it, only procedure. 

“Do me a favor, keep Louis company while his father and I talk business.” And just like that, the two adults were gone, and Louis was alone in this great room with someone who seemingly, though for reasons unknown, hated him.

“Hello,” Louis coughed out. “I’m Louis.” 

“Yes, I know,” Harry replied with a roll of his green eyes. His arms folded behind his back, he took a step closer. “We have no reason to be friends, you and me,” he seethed.

Louis, shocked and face beet red, raised both brows.

“Why not?”

“Because your kingdom is a puny disgrace and I will wipe it away with my armies.”

“What armies? You are a little boy with no power,” Louis grew angry at the speak of the place he called home. He had a natural instinct to defend it. 

“I will, someday!” Harry’s voice rose. “And you will fear me, and all of Cheshire!” 

“You are an _evil_ little boy, Prince Harry,” Louis challenged him. “You probably pretend to be big and tough so no one will know what a sissy you really are.”

And, as Louis was probably deserving, Harry punched him in the face.

The boys were rolling around on the floor, kicking and punching and snarling by the time two of the palace guards managed to pry them apart. 

~

The memory is distant and irrelevant, considering Louis is nineteen now and has, for the most part, long forgotten the menacing prince of Cheshire. There is the occasion where he hears word of the boy’s accomplishments on the battle field, but Louis doesn’t often like to concern himself with the affairs of war.

He spends the majority of his spare time reading in the castle’s old library. It has a quirky character to it, once you can get past the darkness and the dust. The rows of old books and secluded corners with upholstered chairs and soft rugs are his escape from the worrisome world of politics.

Of course, he isn’t the king yet, but his father is trying to involve him with the government as much as possible so that he won’t be completely clueless when his time comes.

The stress that builds up like boulders on his chest; on his shoulders. When he’s surrounded by advisors late at night, or when he sees the premature grey hairs on his father’s head, Louis will admit that his brow sweats a little bit.

However, it is when he travels into the villages with his family to meet his people - when they greet him and offer him bread - despite the fact that many of them have little to spare, when they kiss his cheeks and warm his hands in their palms, that a warmth fills his soul and reminds him that he is not only been born into the hardest responsibility in the kingdom, but also the most rewarding.

These people are gifting him with their precious trust. He will guide them, someday. And he prays to any god that will listen every night that he will do them justice. 

He is curled into a window seat of the library, a book in his lap, this particular dreary morning. The rain is pattering softly against the window, a background beat for his mind as his eyes follow the lines of the page. The air inside the library is thick, and the books have that distinct smell that all old books have - the kind that cannot be described, only known.

The prince is interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching him, and he sits up a little straighter. It’s unusual for someone to disturb him when he’s in here, for most of the servants and guests inside the palace walls know that his times of solitude in here are his small comfort.

Not that he has requested for people to leave him be, or that he becomes cross when they happen to come for him. 

“Your Highness,” one of the king’s messengers breathes heavily, as he had been walking quite quickly. “His Majesty is requesting your presence at once in the throne room.” 

Louis stands, places his book down on the table before him, and follows the servant down stone hallways lit only by sunlight streaming in through floor-to-ceiling windows, all of them facing the western gardens. 

The gigantic double doors, made of some dark wood that Louis isn’t familiar with, are swung open by two guards and he enters the most important room of the castle with his usual air of confidence. He nods to the king’s council, who are all seated before the throne. 

And finally, Louis turns to face his father. He kneels down so that his knee is pressed into the carpet, and bows his head.

“Hello, Father,” he says, after looking up. The king waves for him to get to his feet, and he does. 

“Son, I’ve got some news for you,” the king says slowly, and Louis raises a brow. The king has an odd facial expression. It’s hesitant. Almost cautious. “As you know, tensions between the people of Cheshire and ours are growing. King Styles and I have previously been unsure of how to handle the issue. But we have come to an agreement.”

“Oh, that’s brilliant, I-“

“Please, let me finish,” the king pleads, and the prince shuts his mouth immediately. “We have concluded that the only way to create a peace between our people is to unite them. And we are going to do that through a marriage.”

Louis furrows his brows and tilts his head to the side. There is a silence in the room, a soft pause that seems to catch everyone’s breath.

“But, the only children either of you have are myself and… Oh, Father, no-“ 

“He really isn’t so bad, Louis,” the king reasons, and the prince would whine if it weren’t for the fact that he’s in the presence of very important dukes and lords. 

He knows better than to make a fool of himself at a time like this. He isn’t the king yet - and therefore, he needs to follow the orders of the man sitting in the throne.

“I understand,” he whispers, almost too quietly for anyone to hear. His fists are clenched at his sides, though, and he lets out a deep exhale.

A sharp crack of thunder rips through the sky, shattering the stillness of the room and running goosebumps up Louis’s spine. And it’s almost as if the world is crying for him - as if the skies are announcing his doom to the earth. 

~

Liam is the son of a duke and duchess who make a permanent residence at the castle, and therefore, he and Louis have grown up almost as brothers. He has all of the respect that the prince receives, and none of the responsibility. Louis almost envies him, at times.

They’re sitting in his bed chambers, watching the maids pack all of Louis’s clothing into traveling parcels and boxes. Liam is perched on the window ledge, but his turns around to swing the glass pane open and let in the fresh air. 

“I’ve heard he’s softened up into quite the gentlemen,” Liam tries weakly to reassure his friend, and Louis only rolls his eyes. He’s sat cross legged on the bed, but gives up on holding himself in a sitting position. His back hits the fabric, and his eyes focus on the canopy above his body. This place will only be a memory, soon. Somewhere that he visits on rare occasions. 

“What if my life is ruined?” He mumbles, and Liam groans.

“Please, Lou, do you have to be so dramatic? You’re still going to be a king. You two are just going to govern as equals.” 

“I don’t know how the public is going to take this,” the prince sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. These past few days have been quite hectic - servants bustling in and out of his room, people he doesn’t even know coordinating his journey to Cheshire, tailors constantly making him stand on pedestals so that they can create the _perfect_ outfit for his arrival.

It’s almost comical. He seems to be the only person not taking it as seriously as he probably should be. But how can he? It seems like nothing but a vivid dream.

Suddenly it isn’t so dreamy, though, when two more weeks have gone by and Louis is stepping into the royal carriage after a goodbye kiss from his mother, and a hug from his father. Suddenly, his heart rate is escalating and all he can hear is the sound of horse hooves pressing into cobblestone.

Suddenly, he is on a way to a life he cannot possible prepare himself for. Suddenly, he is alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, feedback is greatly appreciated. thanks so much for the support. i apologize in advance for typos or grammatical errors, because i can never be bothered to edit.

The rolling hills of Cheshire are welcoming enough. The kingdom countryside is less densely packed with forest than Doncaster, and the broad, open air is refreshing. The carriage rolls past quaint farming villages, and the prince even catches sight of a few cities, in the distance. 

They travel for too many days and nights for Louis to keep track, and so he mostly keeps his cheek against the glass window and watches the still, outside world go by his tired eyes. They only stop about once a day for bathroom breaks and to stretch their legs.

His entourage is really nothing special. There are two carriage drivers, a personal tailor, and Liam - who Louis had requested come with him, lest he lose his mind in an entirely new palace without a single familiar friend.

They cross a small, stone bridge over a babbling brook. The sounds of the horses against the road is soothing, and because he is exhausted from such a _boring_ journey, Louis falls into a comfortable sleep against Liam’s shoulder.

When he wakes, someone is gently shaking his side and murmuring things to him that he’s not conscious enough to understand. His eyes blink open, and light pours into them much to quickly. Louis squints, and unfortunately, he is still in the damn carriage.

“We are arriving at the palace,” the tailor murmurs, a middle aged gentleman. Louis immediately twists his face to glance out the window, and his lips part.

It is just as grand as he remembers it. They are greeted with grand fountains and gardens that seem to stretch on forever. The carriage is moving through what seems to be a sort of gravel - crushed up shells, perhaps. 

The structure itself is enormous, a glimmering white beauty against a pale blue sky. It towers tall and proud, shimmering and polished clean. There are massive pillars surrounding the front entrance, which is a sight to behold all on its own.

Wide, marble stairs freshly carpeted a crimson red lead up to the most massive doors Louis has ever seen in his life, and he sucks in a steady breath. 

This is home, now.

The carriage slows to a stop, the door is opened, and there is a large group of people standing before him. They are all dressed in fine clothes; the women in large skirts, the men in gorgeous robes. Louis doesn’t recognize a single one of them. They must be the lords and ladies of the court.

A hand reaches out to help him step to the ground, and Louis takes it. Once he exits the carriage with as much grace as he can muster, he feels Liam’s arm lightly brush his shoulder. It’s a small gesture, but it also injects a bit of confidence into him.

The crowd seamlessly begins to part, and the prince, as well as his entourage, make their ascent up the steps towards the palace. Louis can feel his palms sweating; his hands shaking. The double doors are opened for them, and they step into the cool, comforting air of the throne room.

It is like a memory come to life. He can remember standing here, nine years ago. Not much of the room has changed. It is still as lovely as it was back then.

Waiting for them are two men. One of them is the aging king, with a warm smile on his face and wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. Louis brings his stare to the other, and it’s him.

It’s Prince Harry Styles, who is no longer a little boy but instead a man.

His hair is still curly, his expression still surly. He is wearing a navy blue coat, with brass buttons and a sash across his chest that symbolizes his political importance. There are white cuffs on his sleeves, and he seems to be examining Louis just as thoroughly as he did the day that they met. 

“Welcome, my boy,” the king starts to close the distance between them. “I hope your family is well.”

“They are,” Louis speaks, his voice cracking a bit. “Thank you.”

“You’ve grown into quite the young man!” He notices, clapping the prince on the back. He is sturdy enough now that his body doesn’t lurch forward from the contact, as it did when he was young and frail. “I hope you’re well rested for the ball, tonight.”

“Ball? I’m sorry?” Louis raises a brow, doing his very best to keep his eyes off of Harry, who is closer now, and looking even more annoyed. 

“Of course!” The king laughs. “We’re having a royal banquet tonight to announce your engagement formally! It’s going to be just gorgeous, I must say. But in the meantime, I figured I would leave you two alone to become acquainted.” He puts a hand on his son’s shoulder, and the other hand on Louis’s shoulder. The man’s eyes flit between the two of them, sensing a tension. “Let boyhood quarrels be behind us, yes?” He murmurs, a bit more seriously. 

“Of course, Father,” Harry speaks seriously, for the first time. His voice is deeper, richer, and cuts through the hall like a threat. 

“Right, well, I’ll be off. And I’ll have a servant take Louis’s friends here to where they’ll be staying.” He claps his hands, and a teenage boy scurries from seemingly out of nowhere to take the prince’s entourage down a corridor. “Please, Harry,” the king doesn’t elaborate on what he’s asking, but his face is pleading as he speaks quietly to his son. Harry seems to understand, though, and only nods with a roll of his eyes.

And then the king is gone, and they are alone, for the second time in their lives. Except this time, Louis does not speak first. Neither of them does. They only stare, in an uncomfortable and unsure way. 

Finally, Harry opens his mouth. 

“We won’t get along,” he says matter-of-factly. “So it’s most likely best that we only communicate when necessary. Our sleeping chambers are separate, as is protocol.” At this, Louis blinks a few times and lets out a breathy scoff. 

_Is this guy serious?_

“And what makes you so sure of that?” He asks, leaning on the back of one of his heels and putting a hand lightly on his hip. 

“Most people don’t find me very agreeable, and I know enough about you that I am quite sure we have nothing in common.”

“Your people must love you, you’re so charismatic,” Louis actually laughs, and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“They do, so keep your sarcasm to yourself,” Harry seethes. “I protect them and do what is best for their interests. My personality is neither here nor there.”

“Actually, your personality seems to be nonexistent,” Louis remarks at his own risk, and Harry’s jaw clenches. His eyes narrow, and his fists clench.

“You are just as annoying as I remember you,” he snaps.

“And you are just as vile as I remember _you_ ,” the other prince snorts. “Now leave me be. I’m sure you’re a very busy man with all of the sulking you probably do all day.” 

Harry looks as though he’s about to say something, but stops himself and storms from the throne room. Louis listens to his footsteps until they cannot be heard anymore, and then he watches the smiling cherubs on the ceiling until a servant comes to fetch him.

~

Louis’s new bed chambers are larger and more airy than his older ones, which were dimly lit and cozy. There is a large balcony on the eastern wall that overlooks a garden, and the walls are covered in a gorgeous pale wallpaper. 

There are little hallways that lead to his private bathroom, and his multiple closets. As well as his sitting room, his guest parlor, and a small study.

He’s currently standing in front of a full body mirror, his personal tailor adjusting his red coat and running his fingers through Louis’s hair. Liam is somewhere behind him, pacing the room and poking into drawers.

“I wish someone had told me there’d be a _ball_ ,” the prince sighs. “Do you think I’ll have to dance with Harry?” 

“Bit of a stupid question, don’t you think?” Liam snorts. “Don’t worry, though. It’s not like you’re not trained in ballroom-“

“I’m afraid that’s not my concern, Payno,” Louis sighs, stepping down from the makeshift pedestal as the tailor finishes his adjustments. He twists to the side a little, and admires the look. He looks pretty dashing, honestly. His fitting white trousers end in the middle of his shins, and he’s got white stockings on from then onward. Black buckled shoes, as are the fashionable standard in Cheshire, finish the look.

It’s a little more glitzy than the aristocrats of Doncaster like to garb themselves in. Back home, riding boots and loosely fitted blouses would have done just fine. But he supposes he should adopt the favored styles if he wants to fit in here.

There’s a light knock on the door, and a servant Louis doesn’t recognize pokes his head into the room. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Your Highness, but are you ready to make your entrance?” He swings the door open fully, and Louis shrugs.

“I suppose so,” he nods. And so he leaves them, Liam and the tailor both, in his new bedroom. The servant wordlessly guides him down multiple corridors, most of them well lit and gigantic.

Finally, they make it to their apparent destination. Louis can hear the music of a full orchestra coming from the other side of the doors, and the pleasant chatter of people. Lots of people. The music rings throughout the hall with its sweet, pleasant tone, and he is momentarily relaxed.

However, the minute they open the doors, everything stops. The music stills, the dancing ceases, and chatter hushes to a still silence. Everyone has turned to look at him; their beloved Prince Harry’s fiancé. 

The ballroom is gigantic, with a ridiculously high ceiling. It’s painted a golden yellow, almost the color of a soft sunset, and it is lined with gold. The whole room has a warmth to it. And the gowns - they’re so extravagant, so detailed. 

There are tables full of food, servants moving about to keep everything orderly and neat looking, and strangers. So many strangers, all of them peering to get a better look at Louis.

“Announcing the arrival of Prince Louis William Tomlinson of Doncaster,” a small man with a booming voice says from beside the prince. Whispers wash across the crowd before the music starts up again, and the attendants hesitantly begin to dance once more. 

Louis breathes a sigh of relief, and decides it wouldn’t hurt to start the night with a glass of wine, if he can find any. However, before he manages to take more than a step, the king, decked in his finest clothing, is grabbing him by the shoulders.

“Louis, son, you look phenomenal!” He grins happily. Louis is quickly learning that this man is affectionate, excited, and almost always a little bit too loud. At least he’s friendly, though, a stark contrast from his unreasonably gloomy son. “Doesn’t he, Harry?”

The prince appears beside his father, arms behind his back, which is tall. He’s in a black coat with gold buttons, and his white collar is high on his neck. Louis may dislike him, but he cannot deny how effortlessly gorgeous he is.

Harry only hums at his father, and steps forward to take Louis’s hand in his own. At this point, most of the guests nearby have stopped mingling to watch the scene. Louis himself feels motionless as Harry gently brings his lips to Louis’s hand, before releasing him.

“We will dance,” he murmurs, quietly enough for only the two of them to hear. At first, Louis is confused as to why he would bother demanding this. Harry hates him.

But, of course, he realizes. They need to put on a show for the people at this ball. This is a celebration of their future marriage - of course they need to dance together. 

Like a parting sea, the gowns move aside so that the princes can make it to the center of the ballroom without much trouble. The orchestra is moving into a newer song, an upbeat tune that apparently a lot of these people know. It must be a common dancing song in Cheshire, one that Louis is unfamiliar with. The two boys bow to one another before moving closer.

Harry places his right arm on Louis’s side, and Louis places an arm on Harry’s shoulder. They clasp their left hands together and begin to move quickly, feet shuffling into an immediate rhythm. They spin until Louis feels as though the room is blurring into one solid shade of gold, and all that he can see is Harry’s serious expression. 

It’s softening, though. His jaw is relaxing, his eyes melting into something gentler. His breathing has calmed. Harry’s grip on Louis’s palm isn’t so tight anymore. But it lasts only minutes, because as soon as the song ends and they part, he looks uncomfortable again. 

Louis removes his eyes from Harry’s, and sees that the entire room has stilled once more to watch their future kings twirl through the room. A circle was carved out of the dancers to make room for them. 

They burst into applause, everyone one of them, and Louis does his best to smile back at who will soon be his people. His _kingdom_. Harry, however, excuses himself almost immediately and is gone from Louis’s sight by the time the music starts up again.

~

For the next hour, Louis shakes hands with a lot of important people and kisses the hands of a lot of their wives. Through hearty conversation and laughter that rings through the gorgeous hall like music, he finds that the people of Cheshire are more accepting of him than he could have hoped. 

And, despite Harry’s absence, he finds himself having a surprisingly marvelous time. Towards the end of the night, when spirits are still high, the king climbs a few steps in the front of the room, where the orchestra is seated upon a raised stage.

The room silences, and he opens his arms wide.

“Thank you for sharing this exciting night with us, my friends. Tonight, we dance becausemy darling son is finally going to be married.” The crowd erupts into applause. “Harry, please, join me up here with our new friend Louis.”

The two boys, from opposite sides of the room, climb the steps to stand beside the king. The elegantly dressed guests smile up at them with excitement. The people, Louis has noticed over the years, are always ecstatic about young and handsome future rulers. Especially royal couples, who are seemingly truly in love. 

The king takes both of their hands and joins them together, and then holds the clasped hands up for all to see. The reaction is euphoric. The people cheer as though war has just ended; as if world peace has just been achieved.

And in this moment of collective happiness that seems to bounce off of the walls, he realizes why his family sent him here. So much good will come from this that all of his selfish, internalized misconceptions about this marriage are meaningless. Louis is doing this for the people, and he needs to remember that.

He is a royal. He can have no room for love of an individual, only the masses. It’s an inhuman concept, something unnatural. But he will grow to understand it. He will learn to sacrifice his heart to the public, because it always belonged to them. It was never his to begin with.

~

It’s somewhere around one in the morning, and Louis is wrapping a robe around his body. He can’t sleep in his new bed. It’s comfortable, but it doesn’t feel like _his_ yet, so he’s decided to wander the halls until he’s sleepy enough to return to his chambers.

The corridor outside his room is barren, washed in a milky moonlight that splashes across the marble floor like artwork. This place is almost too grand comprehend altogether - he has to look at it in portions. The walls, the ceilings, the windows.

He moves southward, in search of some sort of library. He rounds multiple corners, but all of these white hallways look the same. There’s artwork on them, and Louis decides that he’s only going to learn his way around by remember what pieces are hung in which halls.

“Louis?” A voice whispers, and he turns around quickly. Harry is there, dressed in a similar robe with a candle in one hand and a curious expression. He looks exhausted. Louis straightens out his attire and puffs up his chest.

“Can I help you?” 

“I could ask you the same question.”

“As if you’d be kind enough to help me, if I truly needed it,” the prince narrows his eyes. At this, Harry purses his lips and nods slowly.

“This is true. But I have a feeling you’d be too proud to ask for assistance, if you ‘truly needed it.’” He mocks Louis’s shrill tone by raising his voice slightly, and the smaller prince huffs angrily.

“You know, I’m starting to see why ‘most people find you disagreeable’, as you said,” he replies. “You are completely incapable of civilized conversation.”

“Only with you,” Harry promises. “And it’s most likely because you are impossible to find likable.”

“You hardly know me, you bastard,” Louis hisses into the darkness. 

“I know more than enough,” Harry snaps right back, and both of their breathing has escalated. There is a silence, the two of them too agitated to continue speaking. They part ways, and by the time Louis finally makes it back to his chambers, he is angry enough that he throws a porcelain vase across the room. He watches it shatter into hundreds of tiny pieces against the pretty wallpaper. 

He thinks of his former life, with his friends at the stone castle in Doncaster. He thinks of his books, old and yellowing and dusty. He thinks of his family, and their loud dinners in the dining hall every night that always resulted in immense amounts of laughter.  

And when three servants come running into the room to ask if he’s alright, he sends them away. 

“Leave me be,” he snaps. “Can I not grieve over my lost happiness in peace?”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize for how long it took for me to update. this week was really hectic for me, as far as school! thank you for understanding, and thank you for all of your support. i hope you enjoy this chapter. :)

It’s been two and a half weeks since Louis’s arrival in Cheshire. For the most part, he keeps to himself and maintains a busy schedule in order to keep his mind away from vacancy. He has entertained too many guests to count in his former parlor; local dukes and duchesses who were dying to meet the “mysterious” new royal fiancé from Doncaster. 

At the moment, he’s occupied by a project he has undertaken for the sake of having somewhere he feels comfortable, in the castle. Now, of course Louis’s bedchambers are luxurious and large, but they aren’t his. They feel like a suite belonging to someone else, for him to indefinitely live inside. 

There are servants bustling around his motionless frame as he stands in the center of his sitting room. It was an almost useless space; with only a table and some chairs in it. Louis has decided to turn it into a miniature library instead. Perhaps, through doing this, he won’t feel so far from home.

“Your Highness, this is the last of the shelves,” the director of the project tells him as two more men set a large, wooden shelf against the wall. The room feels like a skeleton of knowledge now; ready for books but still lacking a collection.

“Excellent,” the prince sighs, quietly content. “Thank you, again, everyone.” He turns to face the servants, who probably feel odd doing jobs for someone who has just arrived. “I’ll put the books up myself. I just ask that you bring them to my door.”

The director furrows his brows, a little bit skeptically.

“Are you sure, Your Hi-“

“Positive. Please, go,” Louis insists, and, tentatively, the people shuffle out the doors until he is alone in his new sanctuary. Louis’s feet pad lightly against the carpet. He still clothes himself in traditional Cheshire dress, and he is still doing his best to get used to it.

For the next couple of hours, he organizes his collection onto the shelves, placing them neatly against one another until his job is nearly done. He had forgotten the issue of the top shelves, though, which he isn’t nearly tall enough to reach.

He’ll have to fetch for a sliding ladder, at some point. As for now, he tries his luck jumping into the air with his arm outstretched, book almost at the top. He fails, though, and lands back onto the ground with a defeated “thud.” 

“The small prince can not even reach the top shelf?” Someone says from the doorway, and Louis yelps in surprise. As he spins on his heel, the skin on his face is already pink. He knows that voice well enough by now, the voice of Harry, who he hasn’t had very much interaction with, at all. Period. They keep their distances, for the most part. 

Surely enough, there he is, arms crossed over his chest, eyes sparkling with amusement and lips pulled into one of his rare, and usually malicious, smirks. “How… delightful.”

Louis narrows his eyes and straightens out his jacket before turning back around. He has no interest in replying, and therefore feeding into Harry’s egotistical game of seeing just how much he can irritate him. 

“You aren’t welcome in this room,” he snaps over his shoulder, but without as much of a care to look Harry in the eye. The book is tight in his grasp, knuckles turning white. Why is he so worked up? Louis isn’t the type to lose his manners. He _can’t_ be, after all. He was raised to cherish the idea of diplomacy. It’s the foundation of power.

“Impossible,” Harry scoffs, and Louis hears him entering the room despite Louis’s clear order to leave it. “This is my palace.”

“Is it not mine, as well?” The other prince asks, his back still turned. He’s staring at the flowers in his wallpaper, delicate and detailed and definitely easier to look at than Harry.

“Not yet, it isn’t,” Harry says, and he’s closer now. Louis feels a chest press against his own back, and Harry’s hands reach around to take the book. He reaches up and easily places it on the highest shelf, lingering for a moment before pulling away. “But do not worry yourself to tears, as I’m sure you often do. I have no interest in spending my free time with the likes of you.”

Louis laughs aloud, something his mother had taught him not to do when someone is not clearly joking with him. And yet, he cannot help himself.

“Then what is it that you’re doing at this very moment?” He demands, turning around to face the curly haired boy once more. Of course, as it always is, Harry’s answer is immediate and silencing.

“To make sure that you aren’t making drastic changes to this place. No one permitted you to change the purpose of this room.” They’re standing close, breathing heavily and keeping their lips pursed. Harry’s expression is the epitome of human frustration.

“I have not, and you can leave now,” Louis tells him, with less of a snarl and more of a reserved tone. He cannot lose himself entirely to Harry’s intolerable nature. And, thankfully, Harry does leave. Quietly and seemingly with the look of pride that he never seems to shake.

~

It isn’t until later that evening, when Louis is summoned to the dining hall for supper with the royal family, that he leaves his new library. He first goes back to his chambers, and enters one of the more formal closets. He cannot wear his normal attire to dinner (despite how elegant it already is), and so he swaps his thin coat to a thicker, silver buttoned, pale blue jacket with a dramatic collar. 

It isn’t something he would ordinarily go for, but he supposes he’ll grow more comfortable with the bold fashion of this kingdom as he spends more time here. He replaces his black boots with buckled shoes, and fixes his hair slightly before finally leaving the personal chambers. 

He no longer needs anyone to escort him to the dining hall, as of last week when he finally began to understand his way around the central parts of the palace. His shoes click against the white marble floors, the sound bouncing off the walls and back into his ears.

And then, his own footsteps are not the only thing that he’s hearing. Someone is shouting; towards the end of the hall. Another voice, less angry but more stressed, follows it. Everything is muffled behind the closed doors, and Louis begins to walk a bit faster. 

The volume is only increasing, and he hears what sounds to be a fist slamming against a hard surface. What on earth? 

Louis burst through the doors of the meeting room unannounced, and the guards at the door seem too flabbergasted to say so much as a word. It’s a gigantic room, meant for strategizing and organizing all affairs related to war. There are about fifty men in it, all seated around a gigantic round table. 

Harry is stood in front of the largest chair, look furious and leaning forward with his hands pressed into the surface of the table. But he has stopped speaking, for all of his advisors and generals are looking towards the door. 

The curly haired prince then, too, turns his attention to Louis, whose eyes are wide and whose fists are curled awkwardly at his sides.

“What is all of this?” Louis asks, more curiously than anything else. Harry cannot make a remark at him here, he cannot degrade his intelligence or his appearance. They are in front of company - company that believes they truly are in love. 

Harry takes a few steps toward him, and their audience remains silent. Louis had not known such tension was going on inside the walls of his new home. Does Cheshire have border issues that he is unaware of? What could they be arguing?

“We are quite possibly on the brink of war,” Harry says, and is interrupted by someone at the table that Louis does not recognize.

“Does he not know?” The middle age man asks, flustered. Harry snaps his head to look at the outspoken voice. 

“No one has spoken to you, Sir. Mind your tongue in the presence of your future kings.” The man, who is probably far more used to Harry’s irritable qualities, rolls his eyes and settles further into his head. 

Harry’s attention is back on Louis, and his face softens - clearly an act for the people watching them. “I’m going to be a little late to dinner,” he murmurs, his voice sweet and soft, a hand resting on Louis’s shoulder. “Forgive me, darling.”

Louis nods slowly, and he will be the first to admit that he is not as good at pretending to feel something he doesn’t as Harry is. 

“Of course. I apologize for the interruption,” he replies, and Harry leans in to press a gentle kiss to his cheek, nearly the corner of his mouth. As Louis turns to leave, Harry is already back to looking stern and upset. And by the time the doors close behind him, the shouting has picked back up to the way it was before.

~

The next morning, Louis sifts through his closets until he finds proper riding attire. He needs to get out of this castle, despite how clean and airy it is. The ceilings and walls, despite how pristine and high they are, are on the verge of choking him.

He finds a loosely fitted white shirt, buttons it nearly up to the collar, and slides the beige riding pants over his legs. The black boots, almost knee-length and made of leather, have small, rounded spurs on the ends of them. Louis doesn’t like anything too sharp, he isn’t inhumane.

Stepping out into the fresh garden air about ten minutes later is one of the most liberating feelings. He can feel the early spring air in his hair, in his lungs. The sound of his shoes hitting soft dirt instead of hard floors is melodic. 

He doesn’t know exactly where the stables are, but he’ll follow the smell of shit and hay until he gets there. It can’t be too difficult. 

Sure enough, on the outskirts of the gardens there is a large, wooden structure with gorgeous, gigantic sliding doors. The lighting is dim, relying mostly on the sun to keep it out of complete darkness. Louis can hear the horses kicking at the stall doors, and breathing heavily.

And suddenly, breaking the stillness of the air, is a boy with dusty blonde hair in a dirty white shirt and brown suspenders. His trousers are the same color brown, and his shoes are riding boots as well, though not as nice as Louis’s. They look more built for function than fashion.

“Your Highness,” the boy nods quickly at him, a saddle in his arms. “One moment, please. Allow me t’ just,” he grunts, as it’s heavy. “put this down.” Louis watches the stable boy place the saddle on a secure rack before quickly returning to the prince. He stands before him, blinking, waiting for direction.

“Oh, right,” Louis laughs nervously. He had forgotten to to tell him why he’s here. “Are there any available horses?”

“Well, yes, but you’ve got a personal one here,” the stable boy scratches the back of his neck, before nodding his head further inside. “The King set him aside for you, Sir. He’s real nice. A bit older, so he’s not as jumpy.. but still got some kick in ‘im.” 

Louis watches the boy put a lead on a chestnut brown horse, with a dark mane and some dark speckles on his nose. He puts a saddle on him, adjusts the stirrups, and gently nudges the bit into his mouth. When he’s finished, he walks the horse towards Louis.

“Here you go, Sir. I’m Niall, if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Niall,” Louis nods, with a small smile, before he sees Harry walking a jet black horse into the stable from its opposite entrance. They make brief eye contact, before Harry returns to tending to the animal. If Niall notices that they neglect to greet each other, he doesn’t comment on it. It’s not as though couples need to run into each others arms at every meeting, do they? 

He coos at it, kisses its nose, and feeds it some treats before guiding it into its stall. Louis, who feels stupid watching him do all of this, takes the reigns of his own horse.

“What’s his name?” He asks Niall, who lightly rubs the brown horse’s side.

“Pat,” he says bluntly, and Louis blinks. 

“Well, alright then. Off we go, Pat.” He guides the animal outside of the stable, and brings his foot up into the stirrup. Louis then pushes himself off of the ground with his remaining foot, gripping the side of the saddle, and swings himself into position.

As he begins to move, he realizes he has missed riding more than he originally thought. He picks up speed, pressing his heel into the Pat’s side just barely, and they canter through the open plain. He doesn’t stray far from the palace, though, just enough that he can pretend he isn’t in Cheshire, but the secluded, tangled forests of Doncaster.

~

Breakfast the next morning is more crowded than usual. Apparently, the king has guests this morning. And so, as Louis enters the room, he’s startled at the sight of fifteen people in the dining hall. 

There is a reserved seat for him beside Harry, as there always is, and he takes it. The chatter at the table has stopped, both men and women looking at him from behind their glasses.

“Good morning, everyone. I apologize for my tardiness,” Louis says, as calmly as he can in the presence of judgmental looking strangers.

“Actually, you arrived at a perfect time,” the king says from the head of the table, with his usual cheerfulness. “We were just beginning to discuss how it was that you and my son met.”

Louis hates that they have to lie. It would be one thing to announce to the public that the marriage was arranged, but to tell them that they actually fell in love is a ridiculous feat to take on. He looks to the boy next to him, but Harry is expressionless as he chews. 

“Oh, right,” Louis breathes out, as a servant brings a warm plate to him and places the meal next to his utensils and napkin. Has Harry already started? What if he messes up some sort of lie? 

“We met for the first time as children,” Harry admits with a low voice, fork poking at an egg on his plate. “Though it was fairly uneventful. A few months ago, though, we met again at his father's fiftieth birthday.” This, of course, is a lie. Harry had not come to the birthday ball. 

One of the men at the table, dressed like a nobleman (they all were) and smiling at the thought of it, nods. 

“You know, I think this is just lovely,” he admits. “The bad relations between the people of our countries is uncalled for and unnecessary. I am glad you two can set an example.”

“Thank you,” Louis and Harry say at the same time, and Louis is nearly sweating. Is this whole marriage too obvious? Is the idea too simple? Will they realize over time that it is nothing more than political strategy?

“Tell me,” one of the women leans towards them. “Was it love at first sight?” Louis is about to answer, but Harry does instead.

“For me, it was,” he smirks, and they all seem to melt at the tenderness of their beloved prince. Louis would roll his eyes, if he could. But then, Harry is turning to face him, and taking his hand. “But Louis took some convincing,” he murmurs, as if it’s just the two of them. “Didn’t you, Angel?” The entire table is giggling at the “cuteness” of the two of them.

Louis is glad that Harry is convincing enough for the two of them.

“I’ll come around,” he argues, and Harry’s smile grows.

“Oh? Have you not, yet?” He replies, lips parted in an amused sort of surprise. The king’s friends are eating this up like it’s the food on their plates. 

“Not completely,” Louis teases, with a challenging raise of his eyebrows. Harry leans in and presses a kiss to Louis’s mouth, short and tight-lipped. When they pull away, he looks fonder than ever.

“I suppose we’ll have to work on that, then,” he muses, before apologizing to the rest of the table for their poor manners. As if that outbreak of public affection was a complete accident, because they cannot bear to refrain themselves.

And as soon as everyone is excused from the table, when their food is gone, Louis and Harry exit at the same time. They round a corner, as their chambers are in a similar wing of the palace, and they are silent. Any remnants of the affection that they had ten minutes ago is gone, as if it had never happened to begin with. 

“That was a bit over the top,” Louis finally says, and Harry turns to look at him as they walk. He shrugs. 

“I would much rather over-sell it than under-sell it. I do not want suspicions and rumors running through these halls. We are going to be pleasant.”

“That was not pleasant. It was disgusting.”

“Oh, please. The blush on your face said otherwise,” Harry replies, lips pressed into a firm line and his face emotionless. 

“How dare you make such things up,” Louis scoffs. “Do not flatter yourself. I would not blush at the likes of you.” Harry stops walking, and takes steps towards Louis, the other prince moving backwards until he’s pressed against a wall and Harry is looking him up and down. He rubs his thumb against Louis’s lower lip for a moment.

Louis feels his cheeks heating up, and Harry steps back. 

“Give yourself a look in the mirror,” he mutters, and reeking of arrogance and victory, he leaves Louis leaning against the cold marble with a flushed face and an angry spirit.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> merry christmas to any and all who celebrate! i hope you all had/have a happy holidays. i sincerely apologize for how long my updates have been taking. as i'm sure most of you know, this is a rough and busy time of year when it comes to school. i've been trying to keep myself focused on my studies, but now that we're on break and i've got most of the tough stuff behind me, expect more frequent updates!
> 
> as always, thank you for the support and patience. you're all lovely people. i hope you enjoy this chapter.

When they had first arrived at the palace, Liam had assured Louis that he and Harry would learn to tolerate each other over time. Of course, the statement is reasonable. Even those with the most passionate distastes for one another, if forced, will grow and adjust to one another’s presence… Even if it only means being able to stand in the same room without scowling.

However, it has been almost a month now, and nothing has changed. In fact, the more Louis has to be around Harry, the more irritated he becomes. The prince of Cheshire takes himself way too seriously. He clearly believes that Louis is inferior to him, probably because Doncaster seems to put a bad taste in his mouth.

Harry is sour and repulsive, and that’s all there is to it. Luckily, they haven’t had to interact much over the past couple of weeks. Louis has mostly been settling into his new permanent residence by adding the finishing touches to his personal library, and growing more acquainted with the people and places of the palace. 

Harry is usually too busy discussing border conflicts with the council to bother Louis, most days, but there are times when they are forced together like two magnets of the same charge. They fight it, but the circumstances holding the two of them together are too mighty to resist.

Today is one of those days, where Louis has no choice but to put up with Harry’s existence for a few hours. A stylist is running his hands through his hair, straightening out his coat, and snapping his fingers at a servant, who runs to shine Louis’s black shoes. Harry is somewhere to his left, receiving the same treatment.

They are in a small sitting room, decorated with gold trim and upholstered furniture. The theme of the space is pastel greens and yellows, and there are about ten people standing around the two princes, one of them being the king himself.

This day has been planned for a long time, now. The kingdom’s people have travelled far and wide to see their future kings together for the first time (as most of them weren’t important enough to be invited to the welcoming ball). They are standing in a large field on the castle’s western side, staring up at a marble balcony that is currently vacant.

“I am not too fond of this coat,” Louis admits suddenly, and it’s true. It’s an ugly brown color, and he would hate for his first impression to a people who are already weary of him go poorly. He doesn’t need to say another word, because the stylists are running into the next room to find him another garment as soon as the words are out of his mouth.

“Honestly, Louis,” Harry rolls his eyes. “For a boy from such an insignificant _village_ for a country, you’re very picky about your clothes.”

“Watch your tongue,” Louis seethes. “Doncaster is a friend of your kingdom thanks to this marriage and it is not very king-like to speak so poorly of your allies.”

“Do not tell me how to be a king,” Harry steps closer, fists clenched. The stylists have returned with three different coats, and Louis is still only in his white shirt, but he is neglecting them for now. “For I will rule this country without your help, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, and what am I meant to do, then?” Louis scoffs in return. He feels a coat being pushed onto his shoulders. He slides his arms into the sleeves without breaking eye contact with Harry. “Sit around like a vegetable and let you do as you please?”

“Of course,” Harry nods. “It isn’t as though you would be a useful ruler. You’re hardly in control of your own emotions. You’re stubborn and pathetically small. What self-respecting citizen would take direction from a leader who is, what, five feet and five inches tall?”

“I am _five-nine_ , thank you,” Louis growls. Harry raises an eyebrow and looks him up and down, arms crossed over his chest.

“Five nine? …Alright,” he hums, turning his gaze somewhere else as he attempts to muffle a laugh. “You are small in stature and in personality. You have no commanding presence; no reason to make people want to follow you.”

“T’is better than commanding _fear_ from my subjects! The people of Doncaster like me because I am relatable. I am kind. I am nothing like you, and I would never want to be. Your coldness and distance is pitiful.”

“You are no longer in Doncaster,” Harry replies angrily. “You are in Cheshire now, where the people look at me with pride because I am reliable. No one will walk on me. But you? They see you as a _coward_ and a poor excuse of a royal. As do I.”

Louis can feel his ears growing redder by the second. Without even thinking, he reaches up and slaps Harry across the face. 

In that moment, as his palm meets skin, he can hear someone announcing the presence of the princes out on the balcony. The doors will open any moment, now. The crowd is roaring. His heartbeat has shot up exponentially. 

Almost immediately, Louis feels a hand hit his own cheek, so quickly that it takes him a moment to process it. Harry had smacked him back, equally as hard. The two of them now, silent and furious, are staring at one another with raised hands and red faces. 

The rest of the room probably looks exasperated, or ready to pull them apart if need be, but Louis wouldn’t know. He wants to hit Harry again, and again, and again. It felt freeing. But the doors are opening now, and they are suddenly being shoved out into the open air.

Harry opens his mouth to speak, and the peasants are effectively silenced. 

“Thank you for coming to our home on this warm day,” he bellows out, and there are some short lived cheers. “I understand some of you travelled very far to get here, and I appreciate that. So, without further ado,” he turns to Louis and takes his hand, the hand that justa minute ago had been used to attack him. “I’d like to introduce you to my fiancé.” 

Louis blinks once, twice, and takes in the sight before him. Hundreds of people, craning their necks to see _him;_ the peculiar foreigner from a kingdom that they were raised to dislike. He smiles at them, cautiously, and they seem as hesitant as he is. 

Harry pulls him in, and Louis understands the gesture. 

_I love him, and therefore, because you have loved me since the day I was born, you will love him as well._

They are chest to chest, and within an instant the people are erupting into hysterical cheers. They wave their arms, they whistle, they shout. Some of them are putting their children on their shoulders so that someday, these young people can tell their friends that they _witnessed_ the future kings together for the first time in public.

Harry leans in and kisses Louis, softly at first. The crowd is melting at the sight of them, and Louis can’t help but feel relieved. This is what their fathers had wanted for them - for the stability of their kingdoms. He kisses back, doing his best to make it believable, and brings his hands to Harry’s shoulders. And, though they are acting, it feels so genuine that Louis is surprised, and almost afraid. 

The other prince moves his mouth to Louis’s cheek, where it is still red. He soothes the burn with small kisses spread across the skin, and Louis can hardly hear the crowd anymore. Harry’s hands rub comforting circles into his back, and then their mouths are together again. 

It feels like an apology, almost. It feels like an offering of peace. It feels as though it could go on forever.

But, in a confusing blur of movements, they are back indoors and Harry is angrily stalking off to be alone. The change in his expression happens so quickly that Louis wonders if they had even kissed at all. 

~

Solitude is an appreciated blessing, especially to Louis, who has grown up in a spotlight of sorts. Even as a small toddler, his every action was monitored. And though the people of Doncaster only saw him in person if he visited their villages, word of mouth travels quickly. His personality and behaviors were well known by those who had never even seen his face.

Would the boy make for a good king? Is he kind, is he generous? Is he powerful? These questions have have been lingering inside Louis’s head for as long as he can remember. However, they have faded into background noise in order to make room for more pressing questions. 

Will Harry allow him any power at all? Will he have to fight for respect in his own home? Will the people of Cheshire accept him as one of their own, or will they reject his presence? 

He is haunted by these thoughts, especially when in large crowds and feeling particularly overwhelmed. Therefore, it is during these softer times, when Louis is reading in his personal library, that he can forget about the pressures that are suffocating him at every moment.

He’s been in here for at least three hours now. A gentle morning sunlight is streaming in from behind slips in the curtains; splashing across the floor in yellow stripes. Louis can see the dust particles in the air, if he focuses enough. He squints, closes his book, and exhales.

Too much reading leads to an unconscious slip from reality. He had read for so long that his mind had briefly forgotten that it lives in its own world, as opposed to the world that the words on the page had created for him. 

Louis collects himself, mentally, before standing and stretching. His legs carry him out of the room, and towards an exit. He steps out of an open doorway and into the southern gardens; littered with fountains. 

The largest fountain, in the center of the garden, is full of stone angels. The cherub like figures carved from stone are laughing underneath the warmth of the sun, perpetually still in their state of artificially crafted happiness. Louis envies their eternal bath. 

His state of admiration is interrupted by the sound of chatter. Young men in riding boots, holding crops and helmets, have just rounded the corner of the South Wall and are approaching him. Their banter stops, and a few of them grin.

Louis is only now realizing that Harry is amongst them; in crisp white pants and a navy blue riding coat. His eyes are shining with laughter until they find Louis, and then the cold is immediate.

“Well then, aren’t you going to introduce us to him? He’s only the love of your life.” One of the boys asks, nudging the prince. 

_So,_ Louis thinks. _Harry’s friends around the palace don’t know that this marriage was arranged._

“Of course,” Harry smiles at him, extending an arm and waving Louis over. The shorter prince takes a few steps forward on the stone path, and smiles warmly. “Lads, this is my fiance, Prince Louis Tomlinson of Doncaster.” Louis bows at them, but Harry waves it off.

“Don’t show this band of ruffians any respect,” he teases, and a few of them burst into laughter. They pretend to be offended.

“Excuse me!” One of them pipes up. “My father is a Lord.”

“Lord of what?” Harry quips, turning to look at his friend. “Drinking himself sick at parties?”

“Okay, you’ve got me there. Father does love a good wine.”

“Or six.”

“Oi, The Prince of Doncaster doesn’t want to hear about any of this,” one of the other men chimes in. He turns to Louis. “Come with us, we’re about to have a picnic. I’m sure Harry would love for you to join our lunch.”

Louis resists the urge to laugh as he agrees.

The picnic is set up for them by a few maids, who bring a large blanket out to spread across the grass. They eat sandwiches and drink tea and nibble on some apples as they talk.

Louis learns that the boys are all the various sons of Cheshire aristocrats; some of them council members, and some of them friends of the king who make permanent residence at the castle. A few of them have known Harry for their entire lives. 

“You know, we were all quite shocked when we heard that Harry was to be engaged,” one of them says, before taking a huge bite out of his apple. He speaks as he chews, something Louis has never seen from a man of such a high status. “But, when we heard that it was you…” His eyes wander to the rest of Harry’s friends. They’re all snickering. “… It made sense.”

Louis’s eyes widen. Do they suspect something? Harry looks stone faced. Damn him, he’s so good at hiding what he’s thinking. Louis wishes he could say that same about himself.

“Do go on,” he insists pleadingly, and the man nods. 

“He’s loved you ever since we were _children_ ,” he declares, and Harry sits up straighter immediately. 

“Pardon me?” He squeaks, but his friend continues.

“I believe the two of you met when Harry and I were around… Ten? If I’m not mistaken?” He stops speaking, and Louis nods. “Anyway. He came come, and ran straight to me. Told me that he’d met the fiercest bastard of a boy in Doncaster and that he was madly in love with him.” 

Harry is choking on air now. 

“William, _please_ do not make up such stories,” he’s shaking his head, but one of the others chimes in. 

“Don’t listen to him, Louis. He’s been pining after you since the very beginning.” The whole group of boys all begin speaking at once, telling their own versions of their childhoods with Harry. They speak of how as a young boy he’d dream of returning to Doncaster again.

“Did he tell you that we physically fought, when we first met?” Louis interrupts one of them, raising an eyebrow. At this point, Harry has long ceased his fruitless attempts to silence them.

“Oh, of course!” William throws his head back and laughs. “What was it that he said, boys? ‘Oh, how bittersweet it is to be kicked in the leg while looking at someone so lovely!’” 

“Is this true?” Louis turns to Harry, who has looked nothing short of _mortified_ for a full five minutes now. He scowls, and rolls his eyes. His friends assume that it’s playful banter - but of course, it isn’t. 

“Never,” he murmurs. The boys laugh and nudge his shoulders, and Harry smirks for the sake of the show. It’s always pretend with them, but the lines between reality and fabrication are becoming more blurred than Louis is comfortable with.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope all of you had a great new years! this update may seem like a bit of a filler, but i needed to establish some plot ideas and further develop characters. hope you enjoy it :) 
> 
> and, as always, thank you so much for your continued support and kind messages. talk to me on tumblr if you want, my url is chopsouhy. i don't bite!

As of late, there is a sadness in Louis that he cannot shake. It is the kind that cannot be directly correlated with a specific event in time. It is a floating, nameless type of sad that makes his chest feel both heavy and hollow at the same time. 

The royal palace in Cheshire is a breathtaking place, and therefore, he finds it somewhat ironic that he is so crippled by depression in a setting so grand. He often finds himself standing in an elegant ballroom; entertaining guests of the King with a distant, dead smile and a light in his eyes that is a mere reflection of the chandeliers. 

His library only provides him so much comfort before it becomes a hideout from the world he wishes he had no part of. There is a quiet niceness that comes with reading, but at the same time, there is a sore loneliness that follows it when Louis realizes he’s done nothing all day but sit in his corner with his eyes on a printed page.

His marriage to Harry is two months away, a distance that seems impossibly far and frighteningly close all at once. The feeling is like most other parts of his life at the moment, where polar opposites seem to exist in a nonsensical harmony that he cannot explain. 

“You need a hobby,” Liam announces in the midst of their silence this morning. The two of them are in the garden, for spring has arrived and it seemed wasteful for them to spend the warm day indoors. Apparently, the rest of the palace feels similarly. People of court wander the gardens, children of servants are chasing one another through the bushes, and in the distance, there are young gentlemen riding through tall trees on the edge of the palace property. 

Louis is yet to run into Harry this morning, which is a minor blessing. He squints his eyes as he turns to look at Liam, and shrugs.

“I suppose this is true,” he murmurs. They’re sat on a bench beside one of the fountains, and the bubbling of the water is the only other nearby sound. “Any suggestions?”

“Croquet, perhaps? Some of the council members seem to enjoy it,” Liam shrugs, but immediately discards the idea when he sees the look on Louis’s face. “Alright, no croquet then.”

They fall into silence again, but only briefly.

“Teach me to fight,” Louis blurts out, making eye contact again and sitting up straight. He moves his elbows from his knees, and replaces them with his hands. 

“What? You already know how to fight.”

At this, Louis rolls his eyes.

“Not _really,_ though. Only the lessons my father put me through when I was a child. My swordsmanship skills are pathetic, at best.” His friend seems to be considering it, as his eyes wandered to the stone carvings of the fountain.

“I can’t see a reason as to why I shouldn’t,” he shrugs, and Louis’s lips curl into a smile.

~

“No, no, that’s wrong,” Liam corrects. It’s been forty five minutes, and the two of them are sweating by now. Louis is holding a sword, and they’re in a circular training room that was built for Harry’s lessons. The prince lunges again, but his thrust is wobbly and Liam easily blocks it. “You need to use you legs for strength, not your arms….” He gives Louis a once over. “Though, your upper body strength does need some improvement.”

“Alright,” the prince seethes. “Is this a training session or an insult session?” He raises the sword again, and chooses to ignore the fact that Liam is smirking very smugly. The metal blades collide, and the sound is sharp and sickening. Metal smashing into metal, repeatedly, in short bursts of slashes. 

Their feet move like those of dancers. They bounce swiftly and effortlessly. Louis furrowshis brows and tries to focus. It is easier said than done, though, when Liam’s every breath is calculated and precise. He is a blur, and certainly hard to keep up with.

“Damn it all, I can’t-“

“What on Earth?” That voice wasn’t Louis _or_ Liam, and causes the mock duel to cease immediately. Harry is standing in the doorway, hands crossed over his chest and one eyebrow raised into the air. “Is your friend here teaching you how to use as sword?”

“I _know_ how to wield a sword,” Louis snaps, pushing the hair from his eyes and standing tall. “I’ve been rusty since my arrival at the palace, and Liam is helping me to get back into it.” It isn’t so much a lie as it is a stretch. Louis does indeed know how to use a sword, but not well. He was never good at it and begged his father to let him quit his lessons the minute he turned twelve years old. 

“Oh, is that so?” Harry steps further into the room, like some sort of lion stalking its prey. He looks at his fingernails and shrugs. “I’m surprised you even have the strength to hold it.” His eyes move up again, delighted in what he’s found. Louis only rolls his eyes.

“Will you just leave us? No one wants your presence here.” As soon as he says it, Liam’s eyes widen. 

“Lou-“

“Well? Is it not true? He’s an unwelcome disturbance.” Louis is probably the only person in the entirety of Cheshire with the courage to tell their _beloved_ Prince Harry that he’s annoying. Even Liam has begun to jump on to the “We Love Harry” bandwagon. 

Harry does the complete opposite, though, and slowly saunters his way to the center of the room. He gracefully unsheathes his sword, and looks at the shine coming off of the blade. He toys with it in his hand, swings it in a circle, and then looks at Louis once more.

“I challenge you to a duel, Louis,” he says, with a smile so evil that Louis just might faint. This will certainly be the end of him. “First to knock the other’s sword out of his hands is the winner.” 

It’s impossible to back out. He cannot even dare to _dream_ of denying Harry’s request. For if he did, Louis would, by default, become the laughing stock of the palace… And Harry would be the first to humiliate him. 

There are a few problems with this. One, he’s already been working out and he’s damn tired. Two, he knows for a fact that Harry is a strong swordsman. Three, Louis can’t fight. 

He sighs, shrugs, and takes his place on the opposite side of the room. 

“No need to pout, darling. I’ll go easy on you,” Harry croons maliciously, and Louis wants to punch him in the nose. 

“Don’t you dare,” he snaps. 

“Alright, so what are the terms?” Liam asks, and Louis whips his head so quickly that it nearly flies off of his body. 

“ _Terms,_ Liam?” He hisses. The two of them know damn well that Louis has no chance. And, as if his friend has just realized what he’s done, he mouths a ‘ _Sorry_ ’ at the prince. Brilliant.

“Excellent idea!” Harry chirps, clapping his large hands together with a smile. “You first, Louis.”

Louis shifts his weight from one foot to the other, thinking quietly. It’s a bit stupid that he’s putting so much thought into it, considering he won’t win. But. 

“If I win, I get to come to the council meetings,” he says, before quickly adding, “And participate.”

Harry doesn’t hesitate to agree. The cocky bastard knows just as well as Louis does that he’s going to wipe the floor with his fiancé. 

“And if _I_ win,” he replies, “You have to work in the stables for one week.” 

“Absolutely not,” Louis shakes his head as he crosses his arms over his chest. Perhaps it’s the pride that came so effortlessly as a child talking, but he is _not_ a servant. How dare Harry even suggest such an embarrassment. 

“Oh? What’s the matter? I thought you could use a sword.”

“I can, but-“

“Well, then I’m sure you’ll have no problem,” Harry smirks, unsheathing his sword and standing in a ready position. He looks calm, collected, and vicious. Louis might die, today. He swallows thickly, and tries to push away the thought that he’s a lamb just thrown into a lion’s cage. And, so, accepting his fate, Louis wordlessly draws his own weapon.

It begins quickly, without much warning. They dart cautiously before each other for a moment before their swords first make contact, and oh, is it _so_ different from fighting Liam. Liam hadn’t actually put much force into his attacks, for he was only trying to show Louis _where_ and _how_ to block. 

The Prince of Doncaster winces at the might of Harry’s swings, but is managing to deflect them thus far. He can feel his entire body beginning to ache after only a minute or two, but his opponent has barely broken a sweat. The only difference is that Harry is no longer smiling - he looks completely concentrated; and it is now that Louis realizes why he is so feared by the armies that dare stand against his own.

He is terrifying in this state, moving so quickly and smartly that it’s too much to keep up with. Harry jumps to his right, elbows Louis in this side, and the other prince doubles over. He doesn’t drop his sword though, to his own credit, which he is momentarily proud of. 

The mental celebration doesn’t last long. Harry steps forward and brings his forearm down on Louis’s wrist. As a reflex, he opens his hand and the sword lands against the padded food with a soft thud. 

Wide eyed and defeated, he waits for the final blow. And it comes. Harry uses his arm to then knock the boy to the ground, with a short but forceful shove. His feet give out from underneath him, and then Louis has decidedly lost.

He looks up at Harry, who doesn’t offer him a hand. Then again, Louis supposes he wasn’t expecting such courtesy. He rises to his own feet and brushes him self off; straightening his clothes in silence.

“See you bright and early tomorrow morning, then, won’t I?” Harry places a hand on his hip, with his signature “one brow cockily raised onto the air” look. 

“Why?” 

“Because I always go for a ride in the morning, and you’re going to be preparing my horse for me. As well as cleaning her stall, of course.”

Louis is actually going to throw up, but before he gets the chance to even express his disgusts, Harry has left the room.

~

Tomlinsons don’t go back on their word. They just don’t, it isn’t like them. And as Louis’s father once told him, as a small child, “Kings do as they promised they would.” Therefore, here he is, at six in the morning, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he sets foot into the silent stable.

The sun is just beginning to peek out from behind the hills, and the sky is melting from its harsh navy color to softer pinks and purples as day breaks. The stable is usually busy, during the more normal hours of the day. Servants saddle up riding horses, feed and wash the work horses, and move hay in and out of the stalls. 

Of course, this knowledge is only from the few occasions the young prince has actually stepped foot into this place. It’s usually on a boring afternoon, when he has nothing better to do than borrow a riding horse and gallop through the fields for a while until he’s content. 

Now, though, at this time, there are no sounds except for the quiet huffs of the horses. Some of them kick their feet against the stalls, or shake their heads. They stick their noses out from between the bars, sniffling obnoxiously at him. 

“I’ve got no treats for you,” he says, displaying to one beige mare his empty pockets. She immediately loses interest in him, and goes back to drinking out of her water bucket. 

“Your Highness? Hav’ta admit, ‘m surprised to see you this morning!” A chirpy Niall startles Louis as he rounds the corner from the outside, carrying two large buckets of oats in both hands. He sets them down and rubs his palms together before taking a quick bow. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Actually,” the prince sighs. He scrubs a hand across his forehead, and avoids eye contact. “I’ve… Well, I’ve lost a bet, of sorts, with Harry, and now I’m going to be working around here for the day.”

Niall is silent. Perhaps amused, but silent. “Though I’ll admit I’m not sure what that entails. I’ve never…”

“Say no more,” Niall holds both hands up. “I’ll help you, Your Highn-“

“No need to address him like a royal,” Harry appears, in the doorway, leaning against its sturdy wooden frame with both arms crossed over his chest. “Today he’s my stable boy.”

“Harry,” Louis hisses. “Don’t make him uncomfortable.”

“Niall? Uncomfortable around me?” Harry throws his head back and laughs. “His father worked in this stable before he did. He’s been here since he was a toddler, and I know him far too well. If anyone’s making him _uncomfortable,_ it’s you.”

“Not to interrupt this lover’s spat,” Niall furrows his brows. “But if Prince Louis is meant to be your stable boy today…”

“Take the day off,” Harry waves him away. “I know about the fun you had last night. You need the rest.” The blonde laughs, and claps Harry on the back on his way out, the two of them clearly talking about something Louis is unaware of.

He only watches the stable boy leave, dumbfounded. _What in the hell was that?_ “Anyway,” Harry continues. “I think I’ll enjoy this.”

“You’re sadistic, putting me through this torturous hell for your own pleasure!” Louis cries out, as the other boy hands him a lead. 

“And you are the most dramatic person I’ve ever met,” Harry rolls his eyes. “Just go get my horse.” 

And so he does, because Tomlinsons stay true to their word, dammit. He saddles the horse up and everything, and hands the reigns to Harry. 

“Saddle up another one,” the prince nods towards the stall to the left of him. “You’re coming with me.”

“Why on Earth-“

“Because we’re going to married whether we like it or not, and it’s about time we accept it and discuss how we’re going to coexist.” 

And, well, Louis is surprised, but he chooses not to argue because he very much agrees with that statement. They hate each other, that much is obvious. But it would be stupid of them not to sit down and work out how they’re going to manage living together, ruling a _kingdom_ together, before they actually finish the deal.

Within another five minutes Louis is stepping into the stirrup of his own horse, reigns in one hand as he swings himself into the saddle. They’re both wearing helmets and carrying crops, but it doesn’t seem like they’ll need them. These horses are youthful and jumpy. 

“Follow me,” Harry calls over his shoulder before breaking into a canter. Louis rolls his eyes, because that probably goes without being said. But. 

The move through the gardens, and then into the open fields. Harry directs them towards the forest, where he picks up speed. Louis groans at the idea, because he hasn’t really been riding very often these past few months. He’s not as comfortable here as he was back home, as he was on the horses he knew and loved - riding through forests that he understood. 

This is all a bit overwhelming. Trees sweep past them in a blur, the only sounds coming from eight hooves pressing leaves into the dirt and snapping twigs. Louis watches Harry’s hair in the breeze; his back perfectly straight and tall as his entire body angles itself just slightly forward. The underbrush gets thicker, and the horses are only speeding up. 

Where are they supposed to be going? Where is this discussion going to take place? 

Louis has no time for further thoughts as he watches Harry’s horse leap over a thick, fallen log. He has no time to react, no time to prepare his _own_ self for the jump. And that’s the thing about horses - if their rider is afraid, startled, or not ready, they can feel it. So, the chestnut colored animal abruptly stops just before the horizontal tree. The cease of motion is so sudden that Louis is flung to the ground, but he doesn’t realize it until his body slaps against the dirt.

It all happens so quickly. One minute his vision is blurry because he’s flying through the air, and the next he is groaning in pain against an unforgiving forest floor.

He hears all sorts of noises, but he is aching and his brain won’t sort them out.

Feet stamping against damp leaves. 

The whining neigh of an unsettled horse.

His name, ringing through the trees. 

_Louis? Louis, are you alright?_

_~_

Harry is holding a limp and unconscious Louis in his arms, stressed and unsure about how to handle this situation. How is he supposed to get one unresponsive person and _two horses_ back to the palace? He’s only got so many hands.

The animals can sense that something is wrong. They are still and quiet, looking guilty and sad. Intuitively, one of them slowly walks towards Louis and sniffs. 

Harry looks to his surroundings for help, but nature tends to be silent and unforgiving when she feels like it. Damn it all, honestly.

It’s beginning to look like he’s got no choice but to walk both horses back to the stable with Louis on the back of one of them. He chooses the horse he is more familiar with; his own. Carefully, he lifts the other prince up and situates him onto the saddle. 

As he’s trying to balance Louis enough that he can lie against the horse’s neck without falling over, his eyes blink open. Only slightly, though.

“Harry?” he murmurs, before wincing.

“It’s alright,” Harry replies. It’s softer than the tone he would usually offer Louis. “I’m taking you back home.” And, with the comfort of knowing that his life is probably not in immediate danger, Louis closes his eyes again.

He’s awake for the entire walk home, though, because Harry hears small whimpers and groans of pain that he cannot help. He holds the reigns of both horses in his hands, trying to move quickly enough to make good time but also not so much that Louis will slip off of the saddle.

It’s just a mess.

~

Louis wakes in a warm bed, with a few women dressed as nurses fanning him. One of them is walking a tray of food into the room, and her eyes widen tenfold when she sees that he is no longer asleep.

“The Prince has awakened!” She cries out to the hallway, but to whom in particular, Louis is not sure. Carefully, she places his meal on the bedside table and adjusts the sheets around his shoulders. “It’s so relieving to see you are well, Your Highness,” she sighs, before turning to leave the room again. 

Her presence is replaced by Liam’s, who exhales with relief. He pulls up a chair from the corner of the room, and folds his arms by the side of the bed. 

“So,” he chuckles quietly. “Eventful day?”

“Oh, yes, Liam,” Louis goes along with it. “It was _fabulous.”_ Now, care to tell me what happened after I fell off of my horse?”

“From what I understand, Harry put you on a saddle and walked you back to the palace. He made it to the stable first, and Niall ran to fetch the doctors while the other stable hands helped get you to the floor and lie you down on a bench. They put the horses away, and then Harry carried you inside to your chambers. The doctors are assuming that you fainted out of fear, and maybe a little bit because of pain. Your leg is probably broken-“

“Bloody hell.”

“So you can’t leave this bed for a few weeks.” 

“ _Fucking-_ “

“Curses will get you nowhere, Louis.”

“You sound like my mother,” Louis scoffs playfully, but he’s still upset. How is he meant to be on bed rest for _weeks?_ “Where is Harry now, anyway?” 

“He stayed in here for about an hour. Sat by the bed and adjusted your blankets for you and stuff. He left, though. His father wanted to talk to him about pushing the wedding back until you’re fully recovered.”

_Oh. So perhaps there is a silver lining in all of this - at least now the sentence has been postponed for a bit longer._

“Okay,” Louis murmurs, because that’s all he can think of to say. He feels too utterly exhausted to engage in any further conversation, and Liam seems to pick up on that. The other boy pushes his hands against his thighs as he stands, and says a quick goodbye.

The prince doesn’t know for how long it is that he stares at his floral wallpaper, but soon enough the faded pink roses are swimming circles around his body. His eyes close, his lips part, and he is sleeping once again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise! another chapter. 
> 
> we learn a little bit more about harry in this one, so i hope you like it. :)
> 
> *** Please note that italics means flashbacks ***

Louis wakes in his own bed, staring at an open window that overlooks the gardens. The glass doors have been swung aside, and the curtains and flitting gently through a soft breeze. It feels like morning, but he can’t be too sure. 

He cranes his neck against the pillow, his arm thrown carelessly above his body somewhere. His eyes blink, adjusting to the new light, and he makes small noises as his muscles are warmed into life again. 

“Good morning,” a voice murmurs, and Louis is still again. He shifts his head to the left, and Harry is sitting beside him, looking utterly exhausted… Which is something, for Harry. The Cheshire prince is usually perfectly well kept. He keeps his hair organized, his clothes straight and clean, and his complexion glowing. 

However, at the moment, he is a stark contrast to his usual physical state. Instead of a fitting coat, his chest is covered by a loose white blouse. It is partially unbuttoned, and his hair iscarelessly falling at his shoulders. His eyes are dropping, lips sad and forehead creased with worry. Louis has never before seen such a Harry.

“Good… Morning?” He croaks the words out, and Harry smiles just slightly at the surprised look on Louis’s face when he heard himself speak. The other prince has his elbows on the side of the bed, supporting his face with a closed fist.

“I never got to, um, apologize for this,” Harry looks immediately uncomfortable. He clears his throat a few times, and the eye contact is gone. 

_Why is it impossible for him to be genuine?_

“Apologize for what? You cannot control the horses,” Louis replies. He shifts himself in small, careful movements so that he is sitting against the headboard. Harry leans back to let him before leaning closer again. 

“I could have warned you about the log, I could have kept our pace slow. I know we do not get along too well, Louis, but it was never my intention to put you in harm’s way. I really did just want to speak with you for a while, I did not-“

“Please, stop,” Louis interrupts. “I know you did nothing intentionally to hurt me. I never suspected such things to be so. Honestly.” Harry exhales, and it sounds like relief, and then they are quiet once more. 

The prince of Doncaster doesn’t enjoy this kind of silence. It isn’t the harmless kind that he and Liam have, sometimes. It is the kind that is awkward and forced into, when no one has anything else to say. “Besides,” Louis continues with a wide smile to keep the conversation moving, “You wouldn’t hurt the love of your life.”

Harry’s face contorts into something of disgust and grief.

“Please, don’t tease me,” he begs with a short chuckle. “My friends love to exaggerate for the sake of my embarrassment. It was a childhood infatuation and nothing more.” 

“Oh, I’m sure,” Louis rolls his eyes dramatically. He knows Harry is right - that it would make no sense for him to have loved Louis all these years, but it’s nice for them to have something to laugh about together. “I bet you sat by your window at night and dreamed of me as you stared at the stars.” To compliment the statement, Louis stares into the distance with a faux glazed look in his eyes.

Harry throws his head back and laughs, louder than the other prince has ever heard. 

“Not true!” He squeaks, and then Louis is laughing; feeling the seemingly invincible wall between them crack. It’s a small crack, but it’s there. “You revolt me, make me _sick_!” Harry promises, his voice raising and his smile widening. 

As if to further prove his point, Harry reaches across the bed to dance his fingers along Louis’s sides, and the bed-ridden prince erupts into giggles. Harry continues to tickle him, moving his hands to the middle of Louis’s stomach.

“No!” Louis gasps, wiggling in between the sheets. It’s a weak attempt of escape. “No, you cannot! I am _broken_ , have you not-“ he stops to wheeze and laugh some more. “Have you forgotten?” 

The torture ceases, and Harry moves closer to lean over the other prince.

“ _Aw,”_ he croons, but it’s entirely fake. “My _poor_ little love of my life.” They laugh again, as Harry brings his hand to Louis’s cheek.

“Who is the teasing one, now?” Louis crosses his arms over his chest. “Do not give me false hope, Harry, or I will think you are interested in marrying me or something.”

Louis watches the other boy laugh again. It’s a beautiful sound, actually. It makes Harry’s entire face look welcoming and warm. His eyes melt into something easier to look at than his usual lifeless stare. His cheeks are less like stone; his mouth less venomous. 

It is gone in an instant, though, when a servant enters the room to announce that Harry has been requested at the council meeting. The members are quarreling, again, over taxing decisions. 

Harry stands, all signs of _that_ part of him gone. 

“I will see you at dinner, then, most likely,” he says politely to Louis, before excusing himself from the room and exiting. Louis cannot imagine Harry would let anyone see him like the way he was dressed - he will probably change clothes before he ever makes an appearance before the council.

“How long had he been in here before I woke up?” He asks the servant. She’s a young maid, probably a teenager, and she’s watering some of the plants in Louis’s large chambers. Startled that she’d been spoken to, she glances up.

“Perhaps an hour, Your Highness,” the girl replies timidly. “I am not sure of the exact amount of time, though, I have not been in this part of the-“

“It’s fine, I won’t demand the exact seconds from you,” Louis smiles at her. She smiles back, a bit more relaxed. “Thank you. That’s all. I’m sorry to disturb your work.” She returns to tending to the plants, and Louis leans back into his pillows.

How fleetingly, had he seen a new side of Harry that he had not even known existed. Surely, no one person is surly and uninterested at every hour of the day - Louis knows that. But he won’t deny that he was beginning to question. 

He feels something new in his chest, something that aches and twists around makes him feel defeated. It was easy to feel frustrated and angry when it comes to Harry when Louis knew nothing but his unflattering sides. 

_This,_ though. This is saddening. To know that they were almost somewhere - that they could have had something sweet, maybe, if things were different, makes Louis feel ill. He doesn’t know how it could be possible that _one_ normal, friendly interaction with Harry makes him feel this defeated. 

But how tragic it is to get a brief taste of what the rest of his life _could_ be, if he and Harry were different - if they actually _liked_ each other, only to have it torn away in minutes and for him to be pulled back into reality. He and Harry are not like that - they are not in love, they are in agreement.

Perhaps this is the problem, perhaps this is why Louis is so suddenly and consumingly sad. Maybe he wants this to be more than an agreement.

He pushes the thought away instantly, to the darkest corners of his mind. Kings do not wish for love, they are not allowed it. 

As he turns to watch the curtains move against the floor, Louis reminds himself of the world’s harsh and unforgiving rules. Arranged marriages between royals, in the best case scenarios, allow for the development of quiet affections and friendships after years. Never do they result in true and undying love. 

He will never be in a relationship that is real. Pure. Eternal. But Louis traded that luxury the day he was born for fame. His _name_ will be historically eternal. He is paying the price now; reserving his seat beside heaven’s line of kings before him.

Even as a young boy, Louis understood this. He happily threw away the idea of love. He knew his marriage would be arranged, but that was alright because his likeness would be remembered by mankind for the rest of its existence. 

Louis doesn’t love Harry. That is not what makes him feel so hopelessly miserable, no. It is the concept that they will probably never love one another that is beginning to make him feel this way.

~

_Harry is seven years old, and his mother is dead. He knows it because she told him she would see him again some day, but not for a long time. He knows it because they put her in a black box that is sitting in the front of the palace cathedral, and everyone is weeping because she is not here anymore._

_Harry is seven years old and he has never seen his father cry before, but he is crying. Harry is crying too, but only because he doesn’t understand why things like this happen. Why do illnesses exist, and why do they take people’s mothers?_

_Harry is seven years old and dressed in mourning attire. His curls are arranged neatly around his pale face, and his hands are clammy. People he does not know are talking to him, telling him that they are sorry. But they are not the sickness, they did not take her away. Their apologies will not fix what has happened, and he hates them._

_Harry is seven years old and he hates everyone in this room for not saving her. They are adults, and they are supposed to be able to fix things. He is a child, and he could not save her. He would have saved her if he could, he knows it. Had he been older. He would have saved her even though the doctors couldn’t. He knows it._

_Harry is seven years old and there is a hatred growing inside of him that he cannot shake. It burns the inside of his body until there is nothing but ash and numbness inside of him._

_Harry is seven years old and parts of him are dying away with the mother who is goneand he knows that, he’s not a baby ._

_Harry is seven years old and he does not know it yet, but this anger he holds will fester into a personality that even he himself cannot stand. He will grow up understanding that to love someone is only to feel your entire soul rip itself into shreds when they are gone._

_Harry is seven years old the day that he shuts himself away from limitless human affection, for he will die before he ever feels this heart wrenching loneliness again._

_~_

_“You’re seventeen.”_

_“And?”_

_“And, seventeen-year-olds in line for the throne aren’t supposed to be on the front line of a war. Especially when they have no siblings to follow them.” Harry knows what his father is saying. If he is killed on the battlefield, there will be no others of their family line to step up and take his place. Harry doesn’t even have a son yet._

_He places the helmet on his head, regardless, trying to get used to the feel of the armor. He had specifically requested to wear the same chain mail as the rest of the cavalry, for multiple reasons. The last thing he wants to do is be decked out in royal colors when he’s fighting - if that’s the case, he may as well paint a giant circular target on his back._

_That, and, Harry wants to earn the respect of his men. He knows that the generals already probably dislike him, considering his position of importance is mostly due to his political title. Regardless, he will prove to them that he is capable. He has to._

_“I will defend our country, Father,” Harry reasons. They are standing outside the stables, with an entourage of the palace guards joining him on his forty five minute journey to the barracks._

_And that’s the thing. Harry has no love for people individually, no. He discarded that concept ten years ago. His infatuation with Prince Louis had been nothing but. It was something that he has long purged from his feeling. However, he has an adoration for his subjects and the kingdom of Cheshire as a whole that fills his heart with passion. He will fight if not for them, but for glory._

_He is the only child of his parents, and he will bring fame and power to their name if it is the last thing that he does._

_And so, Harry bids the King ado and climbs into his horse before riding off towards war. And if his heart shudders at the idea of possible death, he doesn’t admit it to himself._

_~_

The royal dining hall is something extraordinary. The ceiling is three stories tall, with no furniture except for the long table in the center of the room. The chairs are so heavy that servants need to pull them out just for the guests to sit in them, and the walls are littered with famous artwork. 

The ceiling is painted with angels feasting in the clouds, in the midst of a sunset or a sunrise - it isn’t really clear either, and as Louis stares up, he thinks that it might be intentional. They could be eating either breakfast or supper, and it’s cleverly done.

A wheelchair has been fastened for Louis to get around, but he needs to be pushed by a butler. He absolutely hates it, especially since everyone had watched as two servants picked Louis out of the mobile chair and settled him into his dining chair.

“Hello to you too, Harry,” he scoffs under his breath, while the rest of the people eating keep up their lively chatter. There is enough conversation going on that the scene is actually very intimate. Individuals can speak as if in private.

“I see no reason to greet you,” Harry shrugs with a hum, as he cuts into the meat on his plate. “I saw you earlier today.”

“Because it’s polite, perhaps?” Louis rolls his eyes. He hears Harry snort.

“I was not aware that we are on polite terms.” Is he serious? Were they not on laughing terms just hours ago? Frustration and disappointment bubbles inside Louis’s chest, and he grits his teeth.

“Have no you capability of being civil towards me?” His voice raises slightly, and Harry gives him a warning look. Louis softens his tone into a whisper. “We are to be _married_ in mere months and you cannot even-“

“Don’t, Louis.” Harry’s lips are pursed into a straight line.

“Don’t what, try to say _hello_ to you without being insulted? You’re a prince. You were raised to know your manners. So start _using_ them.” Everything that’s been bothering him just keeps coming out. It spills like an overflowing glass. “You treat me as though I’ve done something wrong to you, but I’ve done nothing. You have not made a single effort to even try to get to know me, let alone treat me with some respect. And just when I begin to believe that you could possibly be a nice person, you-“

“I said _don’t,_ Louis!” Harry barks it out so loudly that the table is silenced. He wipes his mouth with his cloth napkin, stands from his chair, and exists the room. His boots clack against the floor in short, angry stomps. 

Everyone is looking at Louis now, eyes wide and confused, and his facial expression is most likely very similar to theirs. No one dares to flinch, and the tension is so thick that Louis could scream. He would get up and run if he could, if his leg wasn’t broken.

“Take me to my room, please,” he chokes out, and two servants wordlessly pick him up and put him into his wheelchair. 

And if he cries just a little bit as he’s lying in bed that night, he is the only one who needs to know about it.

~

Harry is beginning to realize that it will be harder to distance himself from Louis than he thought, as he lies in bed tonight. Opening up to him only slightly has already caused him so much pain. His heart is aching for something more than he wants to allow himself.

But no one needs to know about it. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait!

Harry doesn’t visit Louis the day after he stormed away from the dinner table. Or the next. Louis spends the next forty eight hours reading, speaking to Liam, and sitting by his window in the damned wheelchair.

He watches the gardeners tend to the flowers underneath their large straw hats. They wear thick leather gloves and wipe the sweat from their eyes. They laugh at each other’s jokes, clapping one another on the back in between moving wheelbarrows back and forth.

The prince thinks that in another life he would have been one of them, perhaps. He would have made a half-decent living, plucking at weeds from the fertilized earth and watering patches of colorful foliage. Perhaps he would have had a quiet cottage a few miles from the castle where to which returned every night. Perhaps he would have had the under-appreciated happiness in controlling his own fate. 

“Louis?” A voice pulls his attention from the scene outside, and Louis turns his head to look behind him. To his surprise, it’s the king. “Do you have a minute?”

“I do, please come in,” Louis stammers, waving the man into the room. The king kindly moves the wheelchair so that they can sit across from one another, and a servant offers them tea. Both of them decline. 

“I do not mean to show up to your chambers unannounced, but I have a few things to tell you. For one, there is going to be a soiree tonight in the ballroom. I’ve invited many of the local lords and ladies, and of course, you will be there. But anyway,” he rests his chin in his fist, the most comfortable position Louis has ever seen him in. The prince remains silent as the king searches for words. “I really wanted to discuss my son with you.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I had no intention of-“

“You have no need to apologize to me, Louis,” the king smiles gently. “I know how Harry is. I came here to offer you some advice.” He looks towards the window, and back to his future son-in-law. “My marriage was arranged. I was miserable about it, when I heard of it, and the two of us felt strange around each other at first. How could we not? I was not a day older than eighteen and she was about seventeen. Children, really. But…” He stops speaking to exhale. “What I felt for her ended up the greatest love I had ever experienced. I know such things seem rare and impossible, but there is an inevitable fondness that grows between two people in similar circumstances.”

Louis opens his mouth to speak, and closes it again. The King leans back into his chair, and folds his hands into his lap. “No one laughs as much as Harry did when he was a little boy. He used to dance around the throne room in his night gown, singing. His voice rang through the hall and even my most stern council members would laugh along with him. I remember there were days when he’d sprint inside from the gardens with flowers that he’d picked, and he would hand them to anyone he saw. A rose for the corridor guard, a peony for the maid in his nursery. A lily for his mother.”

The prince smiles softly at the thought, and the king continues. “Anyway, my point. My point is that Harry has built a shell around himself that he’s constantly repairing and fortifying. And you’re going to hate it, believe me. But somewhere underneath it…” He stops speaking to sigh.”… is the son of mine who used to love life so much that he had to sing all hours of the day. Please do not lose hope with him.”

And what is there to say to that? 

“I won’t,” Louis promises. It’s almost a whisper, he says it so quietly. The king smiles widely at him.

“Good. I’ll see you at the ball tonight! It will be fun, Louis.” The prince only nods.

~

The ball is anything but fun. Louis cannot dance, obviously, and he is sitting by the food tables in his wheel chair. He’s been munching on cheese and crackers all night, looking rather bitter and miserable. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Liam waltzing with some duke’s daughter. The women are in gigantic dresses, their hair piled high, feathers sticking out of neatly arranged curls. The men are in their finest coats, and even though the party has only been going on for about an hour, Louis is already tired of being here.

Trumpets sound, and the music quiets. People stop dancing as the double doors at the northern wall of the room swing open.

“Announcing the arrival of Prince Harry Styles,” a man shouts into the room. People crane their necks to see him enter. Louis cannot see him, though, as he is sitting. The music picks up again, and he feels even sicker than before.

As it always does, the music picks up again when the orchestra lifts their bows once more. The stringed instruments create a rich and gorgeous sound in the ballroom, lit with a golden sort of glow that bounces off of the extravagant walls and chandeliers. 

“It must be so exciting for you to be in a place such as this,” a woman Louis doesn’t recognize says to him suddenly. She’s holding a grail full of wine, her face powdered and her cheeks rouged. She looks fabulously wealthy, as everyone else does. 

“I’m sorry?” The prince raises an eyebrow at her. 

“Well, you know,” she waves her cup through the air suggestively, her eyes turning back to the center of the room where couples are weaving through each other in continuous circles of pastel colored skirts. “Doncaster does not match the grandeur and sophistication of Cheshire.”

“Oh?” Louis hates that he’s in this chair, that he has to look up at this woman who has just insulted him so openly. “I take it you have been there, then?”

“No, of course not,” she hums with a slight shrug. 

“In that case,” Harry appears seemingly out of nowhere - something very common of him - looking rather annoyed. “You are speaking entirely too confidently of a subject you know absolutely nothing about.” 

The woman looks baffled and stunned in the sight of her future king, and her eyes widen. 

“Of course, I was not suggesting-“

“We all know exactly what you were suggesting, Countess. Now, if you’re going to make rude remarks to my fiancé about where he comes from, I’ll ask you to leave our presence.” 

Wordlessly and mortified, the woman disappears into the crowd. As soon as she’s gone, Harry pulls up a chair beside Louis and folds his hands into his lap. They watch the party go on silently for a while, their faces forward and their expressions observant.

“You grow tired of these events, when they’re all that you’ve ever known,” Harry murmurs. Louis hums an agreement.

“The balls at home were quite similar,” he replies, turning to look at the other prince. “Older people trying to impress one another with their knowledge of politics and dancing in the same dizzying circles.” 

Harry laughs at this, softly and just barely, and Louis tries to imagine him as the child his father had described. Giggly, joyful, and full of life. He admits to himself that it’s a difficult picture to paint in his head.

“Let’s get some air,” Harry stands up suddenly with a dramatic exhale. Louis has no reason to decline the offer, so he shrugs and straightens himself out. Harry begins to push Louis towards the glass doors that lead out to the garden. They make their way outside quickly, and are immediately refreshed with the cool evening air and the comforting silence they’d been craving.

There is a wide, open marble porch lined only with tall pillars that overlooks the gardens. Steps of stone lead down to the pathways that wind through rows of flowers, but a makeshift ramp had been fashioned a few days ago so Louis could come and go as he pleases.

When they reach the ground, the wheelchair’s wheels press into the crushed shells and make a crackling sound against the path. Harry pushes them to the fountain of bathing angels, and takes a seat on the ledge.

They look back at the palace, standing tall against the moonlight. Its white marble is washed clean under the milky moonlight, and there is a soft orange glow peeking out from its windows. The faint sound of the orchestra is seeping outside, but it is distant. 

Like a dream, almost.

“I think being raised in such a social atmosphere has forced me into introversion,” Harry says suddenly, in a thoughtful tone. “I never look forward to these parties. I wouldn’t say I _hate_ them, but…” His voice trails off and he shrugs. 

Louis understands, though, because he feels it too. 

“It’s almost as though growing so accustomed to these over the top celebrations makes one crave intimacy in small settings,” he finishes, and Harry is nodding along with him.

“Yes! That’s exactly it. I find that I enjoy my time with small groups of people much more exciting than gigantic soirees that go on for all hours of the night.” 

“Well, that, and the fact that all of these parties are collections of some of the most horrendously boring citizens in all of the kingdom,” Louis snorts, and the two of them laugh in a charmed unison that is foreign to them. They feel awkward like this, and they both know it. It is so much more simple when they’re guarding their fears of marriage with angry words and unnecessary comments.

“We’ll be sure to invite more exciting characters when we’re kings,” Harry promises teasingly, and Louis chuckles at the idea.

“Sounds fantastic.”

They’re quiet again, hands in their laps at faces focused on the party going on inside. There are so many guests that their presence probably isn’t even missed, yet.

“I can never love you, Louis,” Harry murmurs suddenly, entirely serious and his voice much lower than before. “And I apologize for that.” He takes a deep breath, and Louis doesn’t dare look at him. They keep their eyes trained forward. “But, I feel as though we can be comfortable around each other one day. And there is something to that, isn’t there?”

“Yes,” the other prince replies, voice barely above a whisper. “I suppose there is.”

~

Harry believes with all of his being that happiness is a fleeting concept, and with brief happiness comes inescapable emptiness once its gone. He avoids this cycle at all costs, because he has no other choice. He _offers_ himself no other choice.

He is retiring to bed now, changing from his party clothes into loose sleeping clothes. As he fastens the buttons of his blouse up to his neck, he considers his conversation with Louis tonight. He made the right choice in making his intentions clear, though his fiancé probably got the wrong message entirely.

Louis probably thinks that Harry can never love him because it’s _impossible_ , because Louis is unlovable in his eyes and there is nothing to him that Harry finds interest in.

But, sadly enough, the truth is entirely the opposite. Harry has never been more terrified of someone in his life because he all too easily _could_ love Louis. He sees it when they sit together, speaking back in forth in gentle tones of laughter and amusement. When they are joking, and Louis begins to laugh and his eyes wrinkle in the corners, Harry _sees_ it. 

He sees the seams of his heart unraveling. He sees himself falling into the gaping abyss of affection that Harry has stared into with terror ever since he was seven years old. 

Harry does not love Louis. But so easily he could, he sees it already. He sees a few months of friendship that slowly blossom into a fondness that is no longer platonic. He sees himself falling helplessly and without control into feelings he promised himself he would never experience again.

Love for another person is not worth the loss of them when they are gone. Harry knows this, he knows it with every ounce of himself. He has trained himself with this idea so much that he is often sick of it - but it is his universal, undying truth. And he will live by it.

Harry _could_ love Louis, someday. And for that reason, he can’t. And he will make sure with all of the power that he possesses that he never allows it to happen.

As he crawls into his bed and blows out the candle on the nightstand, he feels a small cold shiver run through his body. His arms pull the blankets tighter around himself, and he closes his eyes.

~

Weeks pass in a boring blur of bed rest and quiet meals for Louis. Harry is distancing himself lately, which Louis had been expecting. It seems that whenever the two of them have genuine conversation, the other prince closes in on himself even more than before.

Spring is melting into summer, something he is grateful for. He healed faster than expected, and just yesterday Louis was able to get out of the wheelchair for the first time. He was wobbly and could hardly walk, but now he is slowly making his way around the palace on his own two feet - and it feels marvelous.

Harry’s friends have invited Louis to go to the lake with them this morning, the lake that Louis hadn’t even been aware existed. Apparently, deep into the woods surrounding the palace, there is a self contained and sparkling lake that they frequent on nice enough days. 

It’s warmer out today than usual, a pleasant sign that summer is on its way. Louis is wearing a thinner pair of pants, and a loose shirt instead of a jacket. He appears out on the southern porch with a hand up against his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun.

“Louis!” One of the boys cheers, waving a hand. His name is William, if Louis remembers correctly. “Good to see you’re up and well. Are your legs strong enough to ride again yet?”

“Doubtful,” the prince admits. “I’m hardly walking.”

“Well, Harry has agreed to join us, so I’m sure he won’t mind you sitting with him. Niall will have a double saddle for us in the stable.” 

The prince only nods, a bit surprised to hear that Harry is joining them. The doors open behind him, and his fiancé steps out into the fresh air. His hair is tied behind his head in a tight bun. He looks picturesque.

“Good morning, everyone,” the prince hums, lips in a straight line and his eyes squinting against the harsh sunlight. He takes two strides until he’s standing beside Louis, an arm winding around his waist. He plants a kiss onto the other prince’s forehead and murmurs, “And good morning to you too.”

Louis wishes he could make their relationship believable as effortlessly as Harry does. He leans onto the tips of his toes and kisses the taller prince’s cheek. 

“Now that we’re done with this,” one of the boys waves his hands in disgust at the princes, he nods towards the stable. “Shall we go?”

And they do.

~

The lake is gorgeous. It’s surrounded by tall pines, and the water is completely still. There are a few rocks jutting out from the shore, where the boys walk around before jumping into the cool blue water.

Louis doesn’t feel strong enough to swim yet, so he sits on a smoother rock along the beach with his legs pulled against his chest. He rests his chin against his right knee and watches Harry and the other aristocratic boys chase each other into the water. The leap through the air with whoops and hollers and ridiculous laughter.

There are moments where Harry’s arms are in the air, his body springing from the edge of a rock, his entire face shining, that in Louis’s mind he is transformed. One moment he is a young man, sailing through the air towards a lake surface, and the next he is four years old and happily dancing barefoot through the palace walls with the same facial expression.

Louis imagines him at five, with a high pitched squeal and that gorgeous, sweet smile that all children possess. He images him at six, at seven, at nine. He imagines him at twelve, a confused and unhappy child. He imagines him at fourteen, growing older and more distant from his relatives and friends. He imagines him denying himself the right to be infatuated with people.

He imagines him at seventeen, eighteen, struck to his core with fear out on a horrific battlefield but doing everything that he can to keep his cool because he’s a future _king_ , dammit.

He imagines him at nineteen, finding out that he is to be engaged to the prince of Doncaster, a boy who he punched in the face at ten years old.

Harry surfaces from the lake, his head appearing into the open air. He swims to shore, makes eye contact with Louis, and offers him a weak smile.

Louis loves him. Louis _loves_ him and it hits him so suddenly that he feels sick. His head is spinning because it isn’t supposed to _happen_ this way - not so out of the blue and sudden. Perhaps it had been building all along and he had been denying the truth. 

There are bricks in his stomach and Harry is complex and beautiful and disturbed and unhappy and complicated and Louis is going to die of love for him.

_This is the most awful thing that has ever happened._


End file.
